


The Visitor

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-03
Updated: 2007-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks





	The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kidsnurse](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kidsnurse).
  * Inspired by [The Hours Series](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2965) by Kidsnurse. 



_**House Nanofic: The Visitor**_  
This is for [](http://kidsnurse.livejournal.com/profile)[**kidsnurse**](http://kidsnurse.livejournal.com/) , who very evilly put this into my head this morning and made sure it wouldn't let go until I'd written it down. This is in no way intended as any kind of addition or adjunct to her wonderful _Hours_ series, and absolutely no harm or disrespect is implied.

 **ETA:** Opened to all readers with the gracious permission of [](http://kidsnurse.livejournal.com/profile)[**kidsnurse**](http://kidsnurse.livejournal.com/).

  
 _for kidsnurse_

  
 **The Visitor**

Wilson shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic chair. His shoulder ached, and he really just wished he could go back to his cell and lie down for a while. He wondered briefly if that had been how House had felt when this had all started -- if he'd been frightened, deep down, but determined not to let it show, not to let the bastards win. House's shoulder pain hadn't been his conscience. It had been his terror that he might be caged, tied up so tightly by the petty rules and regulations of lesser men that he couldn't move. Wilson knew more than ever now that he'd done the right thing by offering his own wrists for the handcuffs.

His friend would never have survived jail.

He shifted again and sighed. God, he hated visiting hour.

Across from him his mother dabbed carefully at her eyes. Her mascara was running, making tiny black streaks on her cheeks and handkerchief. She looked so _out-of-place_ here, in her matronly red woolen suit and sensible pumps. Most of the other prisoners' visiting families were dressed in off-the-rack, inexpensive suits and dresses, some slightly faded and worn but all of the clothing clean and well cared for. A few of the men, though, ( _brothers? cousins?_ ) were in jeans and t-shirts, and had garishly-colored tattoos on their biceps and forearms -- violently twisting snakes and bloodied swords and even a few lightning-bolt tats that Wilson looked quickly away from.

"And your father and I just still can't believe -- " his mother was saying.

 _Yes, I'm sure you can't,_ Wilson thought. _Your perfect son, stripped of his license, disgraced and serving a two-year term in a Federal penitentiary. Must be hard to look your bridge club friends in the eye these days._ He immediately felt sorry for the vicious thought and tried to comfort his mother.

"Mom, really -- it's okay."

"It's _not_ okay," she wailed. "You did this for that friend of yours -- that Greg House! Oh, this is so terrible! Didn't you think about how this would look? How this would reflect back on us? Don't you even care about your own family?"

Wilson looked away and rubbed at the back of his neck with his right hand. His shoulder _hurt._ He wanted to say _"Yes, mom, I did it for Greg. And I'd do it again, in a heartbeat, with no hesitation, because it was the right thing to do."_

Instead he straightened a little in his chair, and when he spoke it was with the same gentle tone he'd always used with his terminal patients.

"Mom? Maybe it would be better ... if you didn't come for a while. Until you're a little more ... used to the ... situation."

His mother sighed and dabbed at her eyes some more.

"Perhaps you're right," she said.

They both rose; she gathered up her coat and handbag and started to reach for him, but Wilson stepped quickly back.

Visitors weren't allowed to touch prisoners.

He saw the realization and hurt in her eyes for just a moment, and then it was gone, replaced by the bright mask she usually wore.

"I love you, honey," she said softly.

"I know you do, mom," Wilson said. "I love you too. Give my love to dad and Jonathan, okay?"

She nodded, as if not trusting herself to speak, and was gone.

Wilson nodded to the guard that he was ready to be escorted back to his cell.

 _Great,_ he thought bitterly. _Good job, Jimmy. Now instead of just one visitor, I'll have none. You picked a great time to give up on me, House, even though I understand why._ He sighed. _Oh well, guess I'll do some more volunteer work here. There's always somebody in the clinic, and maybe I could put in a few hours in the prison library._

He'd resigned himself to work, and therefore it was with great surprise that he received the news two weeks later that he had a visitor. Easing himself into yet another hard plastic chair, he stared in astonishment at the grey-haired, older woman opposite him.

It was Blythe House.

Wilson smiled.

~ fin


End file.
